


You Can't Help Me

by TheCobraOfHell



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCobraOfHell/pseuds/TheCobraOfHell
Summary: Zen grew up knowing that he was the only one who could help himself. Despite that, he tries to help most people whenever he can, especially his friends. But Yoosung is beyond help. He'd say it time and time again- but Zen wasn't known for giving up.





	1. Chapter 1

Most people would be surprised to hear that Zen was actually afraid of blood. It isn’t an unnatural thing, and it wasn’t like he was actually scared of it. It’s just- whenever he caught the sight of that thick, bubbling liquid- even if it was just a deep papercut- he would start to feel queasy no matter what he did. 

Perhaps it was a good thing that he healed so fast then. Every scrape or bruise healed too quickly for him to linger on whatever blood there might be. 

-

“I’m just gonna fix my hair, Jaehee- relax!” Zen waved off her concerned beckoning. After a rambunctious fan had grabbed his ponytail, it was in severe need of complete aesthetic repair. 

Jaehee gave a flustered sigh. “Just make sure you get back for MC’s speech, okay? She worked hard on it!”

“Mhmm- mhmm.” 

The sound of Zen’s jovial humming made Jaehee’s exasperation boil over, and she merely rubbed at her temples as she turned back to the guests. 

Out in the hall, it was suddenly so much quieter. The chatter in the ballroom was hushed to muffled voices, and Zen could only barely hear the excited whooping from Seven somewhere in there. 

His steps stumble only slightly, affected by the third glass of wine he had just finished. He was sober enough to think clearly though, and that was all that mattered. That didn’t mean he remembered this place as well though. What was it- left and then a right or right and then a left? After a bit of backtracking and a few wrong turns, he found out that it was, indeed, left and then right.

Pleased with his success, he stumbled into the bathroom. 

“Zen?!” 

The actor watched in shock as Yoosung scrambled back, looking around wide eyed as he grasped his arm to his chest. After a moment of deer in headlight glances, Yoosung shot into one of the stalls and locked the door. But Zen continued to stand there, first looking to the stall where Yoosung had holed himself up, then looking to the sink and mirror he had once been huddled over. 

Bile suddenly rose up his throat, and his stomach constricted when he saw the blood. The bowl of the sink was almost layered in the red soup, a bit of trails even following towards the stall that Yoosung was in. 

Zen gulped down a breath and looked away. He tucked his chin into his undershirt, trying to snuff out the scent of blood. After a few deep breaths, he finally caught the sounds of pained hissing. His concern overwhelmed the feeling of sickness in his gut. 

 

“...Yoosung?”

He doesn’t hear a reply, just the hushed whimpers and shuffling of toilet paper. Zen has to grip the stall to keep himself from tumbling, but he does well enough and soon presses against the other side of the door. He gives a soft knock. 

“Yoosung, are you okay? That was a lot of blood…” The weakness in his voice is apparent, but he was able to convey the seriousness of the situation. 

“Leave me alone…”

Zen swallows, leaning a bit more onto the stall door. He closes his eyes, trying not to let himself sway too much. When he opens his eyes, his vision is a little better, and his knocks are a little harder. “Let me help you, Yoosung.”

“You can’t help me…”

“Yoosung…” 

Zen sighs and turns around, his back pressed up against the stall. It creaks under his weight, but doesn’t give in besides that. Then- he has an idea. 

With a few steps back, a running start, and angling his shoulder just right- the latch on the door snaps off like a rubberband. Zen only hisses a little as he eases the door open, observing the sight of Yoosung huddled in the corner of the stall. 

Yoosung barely noticed him, too preoccupied with how poorly the toilet paper was working in stopping the flow of blood. Zen looks a bit closer, faintness starting to cloud him once more as that metallic scent returns in full force. The trash bin closeby was stuffed full of bloody tissues, and even more of them are piled just beside Yoosung. 

Zen visibly gagged, quickly covering his mouth so he didn’t accidentally vomit. It takes all of his strength to not look at all of the red, instead focusing on Yoosung’s strained expression. He didn’t remember this person before him. This wasn’t the same outgoing college student, top tier LOLOL player, to-be veterinarian that he had known for the last few years. 

Something drastic had changed in him. 

He weeps softly, gripping his left forearm even harder. Instead of that college kid, the cousin of Rika, Zen could only see the trembling shell of a man, barely holding everything if for the sake of image. “I-it won’t stop bleeding…”

In that moment, his faintness and queasy stomach disappears, and Zen drops down to Yoosung’s height and starts reaching for more tissues. 

Yoosung didn’t struggle as Zen cleaned him up, but he was soon mumbling under his breath bits of complaints and bitter words. It takes a while, but eventually the mess was cleaned up for the most part. He ended up using his tie to keep the clumps of toilet paper in place. Hopefully, it would stay long enough for the wounds to clot. 

Zen stood when his work was complete, holding out a hand for Yoosung to take. He did so shakily, following Zen back out and into the ballroom. 

-

The only way, Zen could surmise, that Yoosung wasn’t discovered was being able to find a coat in time. Perhaps he had made the excuse that he was chilly, but either way, no one seemed to notice what had happened that night.

Zen tried to give Yoosung his space, hoping to not crowd him or make him feel trapped. He just wondered to himself, how someone could do something to themselves like that. And how did it start?

Yes, he gave Yoosung his space, but he became so much more observant. He listened carefully in the chatrooms, became more attentive, and took care to save each and every rare selfie that Yoosung might have posted in the chats. He went back, looking over old texts, and slowly started seeing for himself the changes that had happened.

It was like filling out a timeline. From photos of when Rika was ‘alive’ to Yoosung’s most recent selfie. Up until MC’s appearance, Yoosung had dipped in mood, this much was obvious. Perhaps that was when it started- because Zen also noticed that was when he really started wearing that blue sweatshirt. 

And when MC came into their lives, suddenly, his smile had seemed so much brighter. His sweatshirt had made rare appearances. Then the whole Mint Eye fiasco…

Zen sighed and itched his jaw, the thought of those stressful times making him ache for a cigarette. He would understand if something like that made Yoosung go back down that slope. 

He traced his wrist with the tip of his finger in little zig zag motions, the movement almost ingrained in his skin with how many times he had traced it. Strangely enough,he could sort of feel the pain. He wondered if they still hurt now. How long had it been? Does a week heal wounds that deep? He could still see those jagged lines in his mind, bloodied, torn, raw- would he ever forget it? It made him queasy once more. 

For the fourth time that day, Zen turned on his phone and opened up the blank text to Yoosung. How was one supposed to talk to someone after something like that? What was he supposed to say? 

He typed, and then deleted everything, and went back to typing once more. It happened so often that he usually just gave up. But it had been a week, and so many things could have happened in that time. So- he kept on typing until something reasonable came to mind. He didn’t know if Yoosung would respond, but he did know he had to try. 

_‘I know what you said. You said I couldn’t help you. I felt that way too at one point. Even if I can’t help you, please let me try.’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoosung reflects over the reasoning for his own self-harm and about how it has evolved.

It wasn’t a secret that Yoosung liked LOLOL. It was a fun and almost addictive game, many people could vouch for that. Somehow, it was able to suck you away from your real life and make you important. You could do little jobs that helped people, make yourself succeed, do anything that you wanted. 

You didn’t feel so trapped there. 

Every time that Yoosung pulled on his tote bag and trudged out of his dorm, it felt as though he were trudging with a ball and chain. Like in a jail cell, there was a schedule, a routine, same thing day in and day out. That wouldn’t be so bad if he was actually good at following it, of course. 

Yet, even now with the release that his game provided- he still felt so completely trapped. 

This had been going on for years, and Yoosung could never pin down the reason why. Sure, he knew why at first, most people did. Losing a family member can really fuck you up. But after the whole Mint Eye situation, with Saeran coming to live with Seven, and the revelation of Rika- shouldn’t he be better? 

There were a lot of questions, a lot of ‘why’s and ‘how’s, and most would never be answered. But there was closure, right? Shouldn’t that be enough?

Yet here he was, waking up late after barely even sleeping, barely making it to class or the parties, and LOLOL was becoming more of a chore than an actual game. Before everything, everybody knew why and no one questioned it. 

But that was then, and this is now. And now- there was no excuse. He was being lazy, he was being a bad person, he was just- the shittiest fucking shell of his former self. He didn’t deserve his second to the top position in LOLOL, he didn’t deserve to be in college, he didn’t deserve his friends and loved ones…

The only thing he deserved was punishment. 

.

In middle school, Yoosung learned what self-harm was. He never really understood why, as most people would. When he was grabbing his lunch one day, he saw two kids yelling in the hallway. The taller one was holding a sweatshirt above his head while the other kid was jumping to get it. 

Obviously, he stepped in. How could he not? Being the teacher’s pet as well made it easier; the bully just about rolled over and ran with his tail between his legs. 

The other, smaller kid didn’t seem too comfortable still. As he shuffled on his feet, Yoosung handed back the sweatshirt, asking if he was okay. The kid just nodded and, before Yoosung could stare any longer, had sprinted down towards the gymnasium instead. It didn’t matter though, cause Yoosung had seen it- the little lines littering pale skin. 

A couple days later, he found that same kid sitting outside on the pavement eating his lunch. Yoosung couldn’t help himself as he grabbed his own lunch and just about plopped next to the kid. They didn’t talk for a long time. Yoosung ate his food while the other kid clammed up, just playing with the folds in his carton of milk. 

When the bell rang, Yoosung finally spoke. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do I do what?”

Yoosung points at the kid’s arm, and he instantly shuffles away. “You- you- wouldn’t get it. There’s no point talking about it…”

Their relationship had been strange but simple. They’d eat outside during lunch, mostly in silence (that is until they’d both realized their shared interest in catching frogs or bugs) and the awkwardness of avoidance. Eventually, it got to the point where they’d have small talk, and then casual talk, and then passing notes in class. Yoosung would dare to say that he was one of his first close friends. 

High school had designated them to different schools, and they had lost contact. Although sad at first, Yoosung knew that was as such to life, and he had faith that his friend would find new friends himself. 

During his Junior year, he found out that the kid had hung himself. 

And he still never knew why. 

.

So, sitting here in the bathroom, he never would have thought he’d be in this situation. His thoughts and beliefs had been thrown in a big blender and mushed together into incoherent nonsense. He had managed to be sitting on the bath rug in his bathroom, shaking and sobbing, and hyper aware of the small droplets of blood on his wrist. 

How did he get here? Why did he do it? And what should he do?

Should he go into the group chat? Should he text someone? Should he put bandaids on?

Relaxing into the emotionless state of depression once more, he slowly got up and ran water over his arm. With the last few bandaids in his medicine chest, he patched up the thin cuts and pulled on his blue sweatshirt. He had to get to class…

.  
 _  
‘I know what you said. You said I couldn’t help you. I felt that way too at one point. Even if I can’t help you, please let me try.’_

Yoosung fiddled with his fingers, eyes stinging and chest constricting as he stared at the text message. God- he had really messed up hadn’t he? Out of all people to be caught by, Zen had to have been the worst. Even Jumin would have been better than him. Zen grew too concerned, he get too invested in trying to solve the problem. Zen couldn’t help him, he didn’t know what he was thinking. 

But then again, there was his third sentence. ‘I felt that way too’- what did that mean? Was he depressed? Did he feel useless too? Did he feel like there was no point in going on, or that he deserved to die after everything? Did he feel like he couldn’t be helped too?

There was a certain apathy that Yoosung had developed slowly over time that was saddening to others, like old friends or family. Like that self-deprecating humor, he laughed at the sorrow or just shrugged. He usually preferred that over the sadness, and he felt like that now. 

In fact, he actually gave a small laugh and tapped out a text. 

‘Haha sure I guess’

He tossed his phone to the side and relaxed into bed. Even though he knew he wouldn’t sleep for at least a couple hours, laying down was better than anything and he didn’t want to move.   
_  
Bing!_

Huh. Yoosung wasn’t expecting a text back so quickly. 

‘Good. Lets get lunch soon, tomorrow ok with you?’

What? Really? Why would he want to do that? He’d probably be in for a scolding, a bunch of questions of what the hell is wrong with you? And yet, he couldn’t find the strength to say no. 

‘Yup. See ya.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a suggestion or prompt? Comment or send a message to my tumblr at tcohs-messenger!  
> Wanna join my discord server for roleplays with others? Shoot me a message and I'll give you a link~

**Author's Note:**

> Have a suggestion or prompt? Comment or send a message to my tumblr at tcohs-messenger!


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